


The Overcoming of Fears and Jumping off Ferris Wheels

by justamuggle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 22:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justamuggle/pseuds/justamuggle
Summary: She is well aware of the natural ability that humans have to fail and keep on failing. The war is over but she can’t seem to escape her nightmares or overcome her fears. And then there is the thing with the Ferris wheel…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Dec 14, 2012 for Round 3 of the dramione_remix at https://dramione-remix.livejournal.com

**The Overcoming of Fears and Jumping Off Ferris Wheels**

**Part I**

“I used to think the Dauntless were fearless.  That is how they seemed, anyway.  But maybe what I saw as fearless was actually fear under control.” – Tris, Divergent, Chapter Eighteen

 

* * *

 

Facing a boggart five years ago was completely different. I had an armful of school books and an entire library at my disposal. Before Professor Lupin had even first mentioned the creature, I already knew about its existence, exactly what it would do, and its counter-spell. Failing all of my Hogwarts subjects had been my biggest fear during my first years in this world.

Quickly, that fear evolved into something more sinister, as did everyone else’s in the Wizarding world.

Even with the fall of Voldemort or as everyone still refers to him: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, people still fear for their lives.

Everyone has their own way of coping: becoming dependent on unauthorized potions, having weekly anxiety attacks or even becoming adrenaline junkies.

As for me, I don’t simply cope with everything that went on during the Second War. I just happen to have nightmares every time I close my eyes. I see flashes of green coming from the ends of wands and bodies falling to the ground and floating dark marks. My nightmares are so vivid that when I wake up from them, I get this intense feeling that takes over my entire body. 

It reminds me of that exact moment at the Battle of Hogwarts when I had thought that Harry had been dead. Our one hope, our one chance of freedom, my best friend in the entire world: dead. That feeling instantly crashes over me and it takes over an hour to calm myself down before normal function is possible in the early hours of the morning.

But now, instead of knowing that one silly school-girl fear has a hold of me, I have to deal with owning six. I have six fears that I need to get rid of in order to move on with my life. I want this war to stop haunting me.

The Ministry of Magic knew that something had to be done to help people who needed a way to cope and offer a permanent solution. If not, almost everyone that took direct action towards the fall of Voldemort would be driven to the brink of insanity.

It took barely over a year—but Misery be damned—they claim to have found a method that will probably help, however crude it may be. The only reason I am here is because I truly trust Kingsley Shacklebolt and he backs this completely, even taking the time to have approached me personally to talk about this project.

The Fear Landscape; that’s what he called it and what everyone else around here calls it. I want to take that  _ stupid  _ title, run up the thirty-some flights of stairs in this compound, and send it flying over the edge of the roof. 

This damn bloody contraption is going to be the death of me because every time they inject me with this burning blue liquid, I feel worse than when I close my eyes and accidentally drift off into my own mental hell. Instead of having to deal with real memories that I know for a fact happened, I have to deal with future possibilities.

What happened is this: about three-hundred witches and wizards were divided into five groups and each group was given an entire building that we were admitted to. From there, we were all further divided into groups of ten. The group that I am in is for the toughest cases, those of us with the problems that simple magic or treatment can’t get rid of. After the first week, we gathered in a special room close to the top floor of the building and they introduced this fear landscape. One person is put into the centre of the circular room, an invisible barrier set around them, injected with the liquid, and suddenly that person doesn’t see the room and the rest of the people in it. Instead, they see the inner workings of their mind and their personal fears brought on by the injection. In order to be able to free yourself from the landscape, you must go through all your fears, a minute each, or until you pass out.

Everyone has a different number. 

I have six: Bellatrix Lestrange, my parents dying at the hands of death eaters, the disappearance of magic, losing Harry and Ron and Ginny and Neville and everyone I know, knives, and heights.

The lowest number of fears so far has been four. I don’t know who that achievement belongs to, but I do know it isn’t anyone in my group.

At first I thought this whole ordeal was silly and juvenile, to force grown women and men through a series of strange obstacles. So far we have only been through the fear landscape and I know we are about to start a new phase. However, if I may be honest here for a moment, I think it is actually helping most of us. Seeing our fears being played out and recognizing them is at least a huge step forward. 

My biggest problem is that none of this is helping  _ me _ .

I hope it is safe to assume that in order to be released from this program we must be able to conquer and eliminate all of our fears. However, I have not been able to get a straight answer from anyone and it is driving me mad.

Having no answers to anything isn’t helping either.

After the blue liquid released me from my fear landscape yesterday, that huge feeling of dread washed over me and I darted out of the room and ended up by the lifts, escaping into the loo. Before the door swung closed behind me, I saw the familiar face of Draco Malfoy.

When I finished my fear landscape today and my thoughts cleared, I realized that Draco wasn’t one of my fears. I’m not quite sure what had possessed those rampant thoughts through my mind, but they were there—running around, connecting two things in my mind that shouldn’t be connected.

Thank Merlin for the disconnection, though, because I am now currently standing in a room with my group and Malfoy is at the front of it with another ex-Slytherin. It takes me less than two minutes to realize they are our new instructors.

We are not in the room that we have been in for the past two weeks with the vials of blue injectable liquid. This room is not circular, but rectangular in shape and with many things occupying it along the back wall that I recognize from a past life. Before I can organize any more thoughts, Malfoy speaks.

“Today, you will all learn how to use Muggle forms of weaponry.” He reaches behind him and picks up a handgun. “This one is a called a gun and it can kill by shooting out portions of metal.”

I notice everyone else in the room looking at the object in awe, but I am just recoiling within myself as I remember hearing news reports about the terrifying damage that those guns could cause. The sound of metal clinging together hits my ears as he is spinning two short bullets in his other hand.

His lips curl up in this weird smile—not at all reminiscent of those self-righteous smirks from back at Hogwarts—and Malfoy sets the gun and bullets back down on the long table behind him and he then reaches for something else.

“You should all be familiar with knives, but you will learn the purpose of it as a gruesome killing weapon.”

The dim light that comes from up high catches on the shiny blade and I suddenly feel as though someone has gripped tightly on my heart. My breathing becomes shallow and I can vaguely sense my vision becoming blurred. My hand finds its way to my throat and I can feel the longer scar that is still there, underneath the sensitive skin of my fingertips.

“Granger, is there a problem?” he asks, cocking his eyebrows at me.

If I am ever going to make it out of this compound fearless, now is definitely the time to start. My breathing evens out and I can feel my heart thumping in my chest again.

“What is the point of all this?” I ask, not realising that the question had already formed in my mind.

“Blaise, care to explain?” he has turned to the dark-skinned man at his side. Once the name hits my ears, I instantly recall him from Hogwarts. He steps forward and furrows his brows in contemplation.

“All of you picture this scenario: you are in the path of one of the rogue Death Eaters and he happens to disarm you, breaking your wand in the process. You have just become defenceless and at the mercy of this maniac.”

I can feel George shudder beside me and whisper, “ _ damn _ ,” the only word I have heard him speak since we arrived.

“Are you simply going to give in and let him capture you, or are you going to fight back in a way he or she won’t be able to?”

“Fight back,” I hear myself say, not having felt my lips move.

“Exactly,” Malfoy speaks again. His grey eyes are looking right at me and shivers run down my spine. “If you have a single chance of surviving, you are instinctively going to fight back.”

“With a knife?” I instantly say. Slowly, it begins to feel as though we are the only two in this circular room.

“With what you have available.” Zabini shrugs his shoulders, feigning stupidity.

“It could be a gun.” Malfoy grabs the handgun from behind him again, puts a fully loaded magazine into it, loads a bullet into the chamber by cocking the slide, turns toward a board at the opposite end of the room, and fires. Thankfully, I had covered my ears before he pulled the trigger, or else the ringing vibrating in my eardrums would be much worse.

From pure curiosity, I know all the parts and mechanics of a gun, but I have never held one in my hand. Instinctively, my curiosity grows even more.

“Or it could be a knife.” Malfoy switches from the gun to the knife and once again turns toward the same target. He holds the tip of the blade between his finger and his thumb, balances it somehow, and with a quick flick of his wrist he throws it.

I look over to the target and noticed how it has lodged quite firmly into the middle of the board, close to the bullet; I admit it, he has good aim.

How he has become so aware and so  _ brilliant _ at Muggle fighting tactics, I am not quite sure, but I make a mental note of it and another mental note to ask about it when the perfect opportunity arises.

“Or you could simply use your hands,” he mentions, quickly turning to attempt throwing a punch straight at Zabini’s jaw. 

However, the dark skinned man was able to stop his impending misfortune by holding Malfoy’s fist in the palm of his hand. In the same instant, he threw his own punch with the other hand towards Malfoy’s stomach, only for it to be blocked as well.

The blond did a fancy twist, crouching down, and with his swinging leg, managed to knock Zabini right down on his arse.

“If you ever happen to be lucky enough,” Zabini said, making to stand up on his own without an offer of help from Malfoy, rubbing his sore bum from landing on the concrete, “your Wizarding opponent won’t have a single clue how to fight back.”

I begin to wonder how well some of us would do at this, especially George. Most days I can tell he is on the verge of giving up, succumbing to his own nightmares, knowing that it is the only place he gets to see Fred’s face. I am not sure if he has any fight left in him and I highly doubt he’ll even want to block anything moving towards him.

“Everyone come and grab three knives from the table,” Malfoy says, moving out of the way and we all start slowly trudging there. 

I hesitate before grabbing even the first one and I notice George has already grabbed his group of the sharp instruments, but still standing next to me.

Without a single word, he grabs one by the blade with one hand and with the other he opens up my fist, putting the hilt of it straight into my palm. He closes my fingers tight around it and looks me square in the eyes as though he’s saying ‘ _ it’ll be fine, face your fears _ ,’ and all of a sudden I feel different. For a moment I feel like I can do this.

Malfoy and Zabini are demonstrating how to throw the knives effectively, how to judge where to hold them depending on their weight, and how to release it. I’m listening and watching, but it’s all a buzz and blur because all I can focus on is the heavy weight of them in my hands.

They conjure up small stands beside each of us as we each line up in a direct line of a target. I set my knives down on the table and for a while I just stare at my target. I imagine one of the knives in my hand and practise the motion of throwing it at the board.

“Remember what a  _ knife _ is?” Anthony Goldstein says from my left, laughing.

I choose to ignore him, not even acknowledging his comment. This time I pick up one of the knives, also ignoring the tightening that grows in my chest, and practise the throwing motions again, but without releasing it from my tight grip. Malfoy is pacing somewhere behind me and I can hear Zabini instruct someone, but I block them out, too.

Trying my hardest to keep the cackling laugh of Bellatrix Lestrange out of my mind, I take a deep breath and try to ignore her as well. But all I can do as I am staring at the target across the room from me is to imagine that crazy bitch’s face there, her head thrown back in insanity, her hair frenzied, and her mouth opened wide. An intense urge to kill off that stupid bitch rises in me, a volcano close to exploding, and in an instant my hand rises up close to my ear and my first knife is released from my hand. 

A gasp escaped my lips and I watch the knife embed itself into the target. Sure, it isn’t right in the middle as Malfoy’s had been, but I am the first one to hit the target.

I am aware of everything around me again and next to me, Anthony throws his second knife and misses again.

“Remember what a  _ target _ is, Goldstein?”

On the other side of me, George snorts and I see a shadow of a smile there.

For the rest of the week, we continue practising with the knives and on the last day, I am able to throw at least six of them in a row and have all of them hit the target.

This week, we have moved onto the hand-to-hand combat. George seems to be wary about this part of our program and I wonder if this will be his weak point.

He becomes my partner because I know I can take it easy on him while still learning what it is that I need to in order to survive this insane place. 

Malfoy and Zabini are showing us the basics; the tactics on how to perform them and strategies on how to defend from them. I practise a low blow on George and he weakly defends against it, a bland gaze in his eyes.

I feel for him, really I do, but if he ever wants to live as close to a normal existence as possible, get past everything that we went through in the war, even overcome the death of half his life, he needs to find his courage somewhere.

_ Bam _ .

I punch him harder than I have been, in the stomach. Anger rushes through me as I realise how unfair Fred’s death was.

_ Pow _ . 

Another one of my punches hits him right in the sternum; anger that this good friend of mine has to live without his soul mate.

_ Thump. Slam. Pop. _

I pound my fists against his chest, not hurting him, but releasing my pain. I feel wetness on my cheeks as he wraps his arms around me, shushing me. It feels so good to finally be comforted, that I let him continue calming me down. 

When I open my eyes, I see Malfoy looking at me, grey eyes observing, but not judging.

That’s when I notice how  _ fucked _ up I am, how I should be the one comforting George, not the other way around. I realise how much I am failing and how my affinity to keep doing so will keep me here forever.

 

* * *

 

My free show that consisted of my mental breakdown during our first training session seemed to have left an impression on everyone. Either that or I have been noticing all of their glances in my direction a bit more than usual. A few days have gone by of me profusely apologising to George and hand-to-hand combat practises and still more stares.

I decide that it is about time for some fresh air. After being locked up in this tall building for close to three weeks, I notice that my knees need a bit of a stretch and my mind needs something more to look than the Ministry approved decorations.

From having overheard conversations, I know that we have been stationed in the ruins of an abandoned Muggle city. I also know that we are advised from wandering freely outside, but we are not being kept on leashes.

I wait until after dinner is over when everyone is walking back to our shared rooms to walk away towards the exit of the building. The glass doors slam shut behind me and I don’t even bother looked back.

The farther out I walk, the more destruction I notice. Paved roads have large cracks and holes in them, bricks are missing from building walls, street vendor carts are left along the side, and shop signs have fallen. 

My feet carry me even further until I reach a wide bridge that runs over a rapidly moving river. The road curves off to the right, but I manage to keep walking straight in a vast meadow, grass reaching up past the middle of my shins. 

Suddenly, that feeling I normally get upon awaking from my nightmares returns and I feel as though I have slipped through a huge hole in the ground. I feel as though Bellatrix is going to run at me from behind, with a sharpened knife in her hand and that crazed look in her face.

My hands become magnetic to my throat and the rough edges of my scar hit the palm of my hand. That’s when I remember: Molly killed Bellatrix.

That evil bitch can’t touch me.

I regret coming here alone, wondering if I should have brought George or even Parvati along with me. They both have lost other halves as well and would have appreciated an escape. 

My feet are beginning to turn me around to head back to my building, but then out of the corner of my eye, I spot something that reminds me of my past.

Thoughts of innocent childhood days in London with my parents flood my mind. This isn’t nearly as colossal as the London Eye, but it certainly used to captivate Muggles at some point in the past. I had never been on a Ferris wheel, always scared that I would fall down from the very top. Somehow, this one seems to call out to me and I walk towards it.

The Ferris wheel towers over an ancient galloping horse roundabout. Some horses are completely missing leaving behind only empty spots and other horses have their tails ripped apart as though someone savagely took a broken wand to it. I come up to one of the golden-brown horses, this one with mostly all white details, and trail my hand along the attached saddle, up to the tip of its nose.

“Fancy a ride?” 

I whip around, my heart has stopped beating and a flash of Bellatrix zooms past in my mind.

Instead, my eyes land upon the face of Draco Malfoy, but my heart refuses to beat again. I watch as he steps up onto the platform and follows my previous actions, trailing his hand along an identical horse, but with gold details, directly behind mine. He’s probably laughing maniacally in his head, pointing out that if indeed had been Bellatrix or a rogue Death Eater, I would have been dead. We’re not allowed to have our wands while being admitted.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” he asks, still not looking up at me.

I continue to stare at him in awe, wondering how he has come to be this way instead of the boy I thought I had known before the war. Is he laughing or crying in that head of his?

“What are you doing here?” The words come out of my mouth quickly, but not harshly.

“Same thing you are,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders,  _ still _ not looking at me.

A part of me wonders if he’s being honest or just pretending he understands me, because how can anybody else feel this horrible sensation of falling every time they walk on solid ground?

He steps off the carousel, his hand releasing the white horse, and continues on straight to the Ferris wheel. Yet again, I don’t know what possesses me, but I follow him, curious to know if he is leading me straight into my own hell or just a vision of it.

Before I know it, I am standing so close to the wheel and its supports that I could extend my arm out and touch it. I realise that there is a rusted ladder visible there and Malfoy has already begun to climb it, one rung at a time. The muscles in my throat are clenching, closing tighter and tighter, until I can feel my lungs struggling with air.

I have already had to deal with my fear of knives a few days and I’m not sure I am ready to handle dealing with heights. Despite having been a Gryffindor for seven years and helping Harry take down Voldemort, I can’t seem to face most of my own monsters.

At least not with a push.

The fact that Malfoy is already high above me helps me to realise that if he isn’t falling over with the wheel, then I definitely won’t.

My left hand closes around the first rung and I can feel how rough it against the palm of my hand and how flimsy it feels. I shove that thought to the side and grab the next rung, pushing up off the ground with my foot.

I exhale deeply, and then inhale. A few more strong breathes in and out and I finally reach where Malfoy has stopped and sat upon a platform. Turning my body as carefully as I can, I move to sit next to him, finally aware that he has one of the guns attached to his hip.

There is no need to ask him why he’s carrying it around; I remember hearing the news of his mother’s death at the hands of Rodolphus Lestrange a few weeks after the war ended. I put that together with the fact that he is the one teaching us about other fighting tactics and it all makes sense. 

It’s been only a few weeks that he has been helping us out, but somehow he always seems to distract me and his presence is always made aware of in my senses. I can either feel the heat of his body radiating towards my direction or I can smell his distinct scent—something musky and heavy and calming—or I see his eyes on me. I can’t decide if this is a good thing or something to worry about.

He takes an empty bullet shell from his pocket and throws it down to the ground, watching as it falls, hitting the ground without a sound.

“I still have my demons, Granger.”

Not wanting to impose on the personal details of his life, I’m not quite sure what to say.

“Well, I think I’ll never get rid of mine.”

“I don’t think that’s the point of all this,” he says, looking back down at the ground underneath us that seems miles away.

And I think I understand. 


	2. Chapter 2

**The Overcoming of Fears and Jumping Off Ferris Wheels**

**Part II**

“And while he has done cruel, evil things, our society is not divided into “good” and “bad.”Cruelty does not make a person honest, the same way bravery does not make a person kind.”—Tris, Insurgent, Chapter Thirty-Eight

 

* * *

 

Later that night, I have no nightmares.

When I woke up in the morning, the only thing I can remember from my dreams was climbing up a giant Ferris wheel, right behind Malfoy, and then jumping from the highest point all the way to the ground, miraculously landing on my feet.

After the realization hit that I necessarily didn’t have a nightmare, it also hit me that I didn’t wake up in a panic. 

Honestly, it was the best night’s sleep I’ve had since the third day in May, last year. A flicker of a thought pops up, that maybe I have Malfoy to thank for that, but it dissipates as I put that fire out.

I quickly get dressed while images of guns, knives, giant wheels, and Malfoy spin frantically above my head. Breakfast is the furthest thing from my mind, but the thought that he will be there draws me to keep walking towards the dining hall. 

The first thing I notice are these crazy fairy lights floating around the entrance, glowing in various shades of green and red. Is it really that close to Christmas already?

The next thing I notice is that he is sitting down next to Blaise, busy with idle conversation. He isn’t as preoccupied as I think when he lifts his head up and looks in my direction and I notice a knowing look in his eyes. He cocks his head to the side, which I am unsure if it means that he wants me to join him. I desperately want to; to sit in front of him and just feel comfortable in his presence. Like the day before.

Instead of giving him any indication that I noticed his gesture—if it even was a gesture towards me—I walk towards the small line forming to grab some food. The tables here aren’t very big, so instead of the food appearing instantly at all of them, there is a thin long table at the left side wall where we can choose what we want. It is also good because not everyone shows up for meals at the same time.

I’m not entirely hungry, but I do take a piece of toast with honey and half a grapefruit.  I am reaching for a spoon for my fruit when I feel warm breath at my ear.

“Join me.”

As I turn my head, I notice how close my nose is to touching his. Then there is that knowing look again and the intense grey in his eyes sends a chill down my spine and I silently nod, keeping my gaze locked into his. 

When I sit down in front of him, in the exact spot he had been before, I notice that Blaise is no longer with us and that I am the only one eating. Strangely, it doesn’t bother me when we are in silence and it appears that he is staring at me while I nibble like a kitten on my food. It is just as I had wanted: comfortable.

Looking up at him, I wonder why he keeps seeking me out. Just about a year and half ago, I was still a Mudblood to him, the girl that helped Harry Potter, and I thought he would never,  _ ever _ consider me his equal. Yet, here I am, almost sharing a meal with him, no snide remarks, absolutely no contempt on his face, and no slight fear in his eyes.

Then, I instantly realise it. Has it been fear all these years; someone inferior to him doing better in school, better in  _ magic _ than him, who had grown up around it? 

He has had a fear of me all these years, and now he is facing it.

And I realise that all I am is just a challenge.

 

* * *

 

Today, we are throwing knives again.

Oh joy.

Regardless of the fact that I have become quite good at throwing them, my fear of these knives has not dissolved. Every time I lay eyes on the sharp blade that damn vision of that psychotic bitch pinning me down crosses my mind. A sense of dread comes up, but I am increasingly becoming quicker to banish that all away.

Malfoy walks in right after Zabini does and I can’t hide the meaningful death glare towards him. I still cannot get over the revelation that I made apparent over breakfast and for some unforeseen reason, it bothers me.

I think he notices because I see his questioning glance. 

“Are you confident in your own abilities,” he asks everyone, but I can sense how he has projected his voice at me.

We all nod, mumbling unconfident affirmations. I just stand there, my back against the cold concrete of the wall. A part of my wants to jump, wave my arms and shout pointing out how bloody amazing I am. The other part of me realises that there is a possibility they want to do a demonstration and there is absolutely no way I will be throwing knives while everyone watches me.

Nonetheless, Malfoy already knows how good I am and it scares me at how much he knows but how little we have actually talked.

“Are any of you confident in  _ me _ ?”

My eyes instantly dart up into his. What in the name of Holy Gryffindor does he mean by that?

“I think you happen to be confident enough in yourself for all of us, Malfoy,” Anthony says from somewhere to the left of me. Even though I can’t see his face, I just hear the smugness in his voice as though he had said the most insulting thing.

“Alright, if you think so...” Malfoy says, pacing the room. Ironically, he reminds of a lion, picking out his prey.

My heart stops when I notice his eyes stopping on George beside me. 

“Weasley, go stand in front of the target.” The blond-haired git is dead serious.

My back leaves the wall of concrete as I straighten my back, glaring daggers once more at him. 

I can literally hear George’s nervous gulping as he slowly walks to the other end of the room in front of a target. His eyes were wide and dark and if I continued to look hard enough, I could see that his hands were slightly trembling. He is shuffling his feet, staring at the ground. Wasn’t it just last time that he was telling me to be brave? 

Now he seems so unsure of himself. I wonder if he is currently thinking of Fred.

I miss Fred. Most of all, I miss the laughter. I could use some.

I’m back to reality and I watch as Malfoy turns the knife around in his hand, his index finger moving slightly along the blade’s edge. 

“ _ Stop  _ it.” I know I am stupid for saying anything, but I  _ have _ to speak up for George who won’t do it for himself at this point.

Malfoy’s eyes turn hard on me and I see a flutter of apprehension in them. Then I see Blaise looking at me, curiosity noticeable there.

“Honestly?” I ask stepping up closer to the front. “You’re _ honestly _ going to throw a knife at his head?” Anger becomes more evident in my voice.

He was here to teach us methods to get rid of our fears, not add to them.

A scary glint flashes in his eyes, replacing the trepidation, and a smile reminiscent of his Hogwarts-days smirk appears.

“No,” he responds calmly, taking a step towards me. “I’m going to throw one at  _ your  _ head.” He lifts his eyebrows as if challenging me to retaliate.

I force myself to not let my mouth hang open in astonishment as I give him a death glare. How dare he?

Instead of giving into obvious threat, he turns around and walks back to the table.

“Thanks for volunteering, Granger,” he voices.

I must be entirely too stupid to think coherently because I swallow deeply and walk to the target down the room from him and stand in front of it. If he stabs me in the face with that fucking knife, he better have a damn good spell handy to bring me back to life. Or maybe a spell to make it all end quickly. I’m not sure which is better at this point.

“If you flinch,” Malfoy says, slowly, carefully, “Weasley takes your place. Understand?”

Before I realise what I am doing, I nod.

His steely eyes are locked straight into mine when he swiftly moves his hand up and throws the knife. I instantly see a blur of metal followed by a loud thud. I move my eyes to the left, scared to move my entire head and see the blade embedded into the target, just inches from my head.

I close my eyes and I toss a silent ‘thanks’ into the air, to whatever spirit has saved me. For the first time in a long time, I realise I really do want to stay alive. Will it be possible to live through another Christmas?

“Done yet, Granger?” 

I think of George and what must be going through his head, how much I just want to get better and get through this. If he makes it, I’ll be right there behind him. We are family after all.

“No,” I reply.

“Eyes open, then.” As if I didn’t grasp his point, he taps in between his eyebrows with the end of the hilt of another knife.

Just like before, I keep my eyes locked into his. Ever since we’ve been aware of each other’s presence here, things keep going back and forth between us. Why does he enjoy torturing me so much?

Once again, he pulls his arm back and promptly lets go of the knife and I hear a thud again as the blade hits the target. This time, it lands above my head, closer to my body than the one before it.

“Come on, Granger,” he says with a mocking tone, but the look upon his face doesn’t match it. “Let someone else face your fears for you.”

Why does he want me to give up, pushing me to fail out of this? Is he trying to humiliate me even further?

“Shut  _ up _ , Malfoy!”

His eyes grow darker, his lips inch into a thin line, and he’s playing with the blade of the next knife in his hands, all while staring at me. In a quick second his eyes look down at his hands, and in an unnoticeable flash, the knife is thrown in my direction.

The thud this time isn’t as distinct and I can feel a stinging on my left ear. I raise my hand to it and when it comes into focus, I see blood trailing down my fingers. He nicked my ear. Before I can even comprehend it all and sort out this crazy correlation between me and Malfoy, someone else speaks.

“As much as this astounds me, I think that about wraps it up for today.” Zabini has a damn smirk on his face and walks out of the room. 

Damn ex-Slytherins and their smirks.

Before walking out with the rest of the entire room, George comes to me, giving me a pitiful look. Of course, I must just be utterly fuming and misreading everything.

“You should have let me do it. At least my ear is already missing,” he whispers in my uninjured ear.

Damn, I missed his voice.

Everyone else walks out as well, assuming it was the end of the entire lesson for the day, and suddenly it is just me and Malfoy.

I see a look of concern on his face and he begins to say something, but I don’t dare give him the chance.

“What the  _ hell _ was that about?” I shouted at him.

“It’s part of the training,” he answers, as though that should solve it all and I’ll have an epiphany.

“I don’t know where you get off thinking that throwing knives, cutting off people’s ears are going to help at all!”

“Are you still breathing?” He asks this question with absolutely no agitation in his voice. When did he become so level headed? 

“ _ Yes _ .”

“Then that means you are still alive, Granger.” He shoes his hands in his trouser pockets.

“One would assume, obviously.”

I’m beginning to lose my patience and I look at him, urging him to get to the point because this game of pointing out the blatantly obvious is getting old quicker than it has started.

“A knife just cut your ear and you survived!” Malfoy began to slowly raise his voice. 

“So? I had one held up to my throat,” I yelled back, again, “for over an hour! And I survived that!” Who did he think he was?

“That’s the point!” 

He grabbed my shoulders and looked at me even deeper. When did we get so close?

“What is?” I ask dumbly.

“That you’re alive! Start feeling something!”

His fingers tightened around my shoulders, and before I could understand what he was doing, his lips smashed into mine. Suddenly, I didn’t want to think.

Mainly because I was beyond the point of confusion and if I were to try to piece it all together, it would take the better part of my stay here in the compound. Secondly, who honestly processes thoughts when they’re being snogged senseless?

His lips are moving around mine, catching my bottom lip in between his. Malfoy is soft in his movements, not harsh like I would have thought, and it sends waves of shivers throughout my body. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his back and pull him in closer, suffocating the air in between our bodies.

How could we have possibly gone from fighting to kissing in less than a second?

It doesn’t matter because his mouth opens to release his tongue and he tries slipping it into my own mouth and I don’t hesitate to let him. More waves of warmth crash over me and my head becomes foggy as he separates from me. I instantly miss his mouth on mine.

“Did you feel that?”

I can’t speak, so I nod.

“Do you understand?” he asks genuinely.

I nod again, leaning my forehead against his, because really; I do. Every day, I understand more and more.

 

* * *

 

I am under an ocean, an incredibly warm ocean were each wave threatens to pull me under and save me at the same time. This feeling is new to me and I hope that it will never go away. Something has changed in the months that I have been here.

Then I realise what it is. It’s him. Something about him makes me feel like I’m about to fall. Or turn to liquid. Or burst into flames.

An entire week passes and every night I find myself again at the Ferris wheel away from the compound. Fortunately, I am never there alone. Malfoy always seems to be behind me and I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want me to be out there by myself or if he can’t stand being apart from me.

We sit on the platform and most of the time we don’t talk to each other. I get exactly what I want from his presence: comfort.

Every time, he reaches for my hand and holds it firmly in his, every once in awhile running his thumb over the thin skin of my palm. It turns out to be quite calming and helps me focus on thinking. As we watch the sun set, ending another day in the aftermath that we are dealing with.

“What do you want for Christmas?’ he asks me today, breaking our silence.

I have to think about it for a bit.

“I want to be rid of all this. This emptiness that keeps coming and these fears that keep overtaking me.”

“I thought you understood.” And I know what he means.

“Of course I do, but that doesn’t mean I won’t continue wishing to be fearless; even if I have to live these fears every day.”

It’s true. We can never be fearless, but Malfoy has been the person to give me the most valuable thing in my life: the lesson that we must learn to live with control over our fears, because it is our fears that define us along with our passions. 

At this moment, Malfoy is both my fear and my passion.

“I want to jump off,” he says staring down at the dead grass underneath us. I should never have told him yesterday about my dreams that I have been having. “Will you jump with me?”

His blond hair flows with the gentle but freezing wind and for a glimmer of a second, I believe that I could. I think that if he were to hold my hand, I could probably do anything.

Despite my current feelings for him, I shake my head. 

He bites his bottom lip, something I have never seen him do.

“Do you trust me?”

I become conscious of the fact that I have only been close to him for two weeks and wonder if that is enough to trust someone. After all the bad that has happened in our world and the present knowledge of his past relations to everything that happened, can I still have a bond of trust with him?

“Yeah, Malfoy, I do,” I say, holding my breath at the end of my revelation.

He moves to stand up and my heart skips a quick beat, wondering if he really is going to do this. Of course he is because he reaches for my hand and as if I am hypnotised, I place it within his. He pulls me up to my feet, standing next to him.

He must have noticed my apprehension because he rubs my arm, whispering in my ear that nothing will happen to us at all. We must be close to one-hundred feet off of the ground; how can he be so certain?

I want to rebuild my life and start over somewhere, so why not with him? I think he just stole a piece of me.

Holding on tightly, I feel my feet release from the platform and wind blows my hair up around me. After a few seconds, I take in the fact that I have not felt my body collide with the hard ground. I open my eyes, and see that we are now gently floating down the last twenty feet slowly.

My feet finally hit the ground and I am safe. I survived a one-hundred foot jump.

“You used magic,” I say before I fully realised it.

“Yeah. I was also able to get you to trust me.”

And he was so irrevocably right.

 

* * *

 

A few more weeks go by and we practise more knife throwing, gun shooting, and fighting each other. George opens up more and more to me as each passing day goes by and Parvati is finally able to talk about Lavender’s death. I still continue to make daily visits to the Ferris wheel and Malfoy always goes with me instead of trailing me there. 

The giant wheel becomes a sort of symbol for me, for us. 

Before we know it, the second Christmas after the war is here. We each have been given the option to have our families come and visit, but I know my parents would have a hard time with coming and I think it would be best for me to not see Harry, Ginny, and Ron. George agrees and unfortunately we settle with sending them owls with our apologies.

There were celebrations on Christmas Eve at the Pit, the centre of the compound and the mood surrounding the event was lighter and slightly merry. 

When it’s time to finally get to sleep, rest just doesn’t come easy for me and I escape my bunk to go wandering, to collect my thoughts. I speculate about how far I have come in the months that I have been here. 

I end up in the hall where I know Malfoy’s room is. 

He’s probably asleep, but I don’t care and knock on his door anyway. Barely ten seconds go by and the door is opening as he peeks through the crack.

Malfoy looks as though he hasn’t found sleep either.

His hands reach out for me, pulling me into his room, the door closing itself behind me. Instantly, his arms wrap around my waist. It astounds me at how well he knows me already, apparently recognising that I was in search of comfort.

Warm air tickles my neck where his mouth rests against my skin.

“I have something for you,” he whispers and the huskiness in his voice makes my body warm all over, butterflies growing in my stomach like they always do when I’m around him.

I shake my head, whispering in return, “not yet,” because I want to stay in his arms longer. My head reaches out, kissing him softly, loving the feeling I have when I know this man that was crafted out of stone can turn into melded clay when he’s in my hands. 

He feels it to, turning our kisses into intense movements, nibbles, and a moan escapes my throat as a fire builds in my core. 

I want him.

I need him.

I  _ crave  _ him. 

He has turned into an enigma, giving me the only peace I have been able to find from my nightmares, when once upon a time he used to be a part of them.

I feel the warmth from his hands as he slips them under my shirt, inching them up my back. He walks me backwards until the backs of my knees collide with his mattress. One small push and I am laying down, his body a wonderful weight on top of me.

There is no doubt in my mind that this is what I want and the best thing he can give me on this holiday.

I think it’s finally high time that I get to enjoy myself. Even if it is with Malfoy.

He pulls my shirt off in a quick motion and I am not afraid at all that he is taking the view in of my half naked body with hungry eyes.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione,” he manages to whisper before giving me all the pleasure in the world.

I try to tell him Happy Christmas in return, but he is overtaking all of my senses and my ability to speak has left me.

His moans escaping his throat and his hands over my breasts are enough of a response.

Happy Christmas, indeed.

 


End file.
